Before The Dawn
by Annie Lockwood
Summary: His arm shot out, slamming her into the brick wall. "Ah yes, my suspicions are confirmed, witch," he hissed. "As are mine. Vampire," she snarled and their eyes locked together in the equal fury of a hurricane as she raised her wand and he bared his fangs.
1. An Ending Life

**Disclaimer-**I own _nothing_ from either worlds.

**A/N-**First off, to all of those who have read my stories before, the creation of this story may come as a surprise to you. Over the years I've become rather disappointed in the Twilight series, but that is just my personal opinion—you do not have to agree with me. But this idea practically slammed itself into my head the other day and, well, you know that I can't just let an idea break away like that. I need to write it. So, here I am. I don't expect this to be perfect on the first try by any means. But I hope that I can create this story to everyone's satisfaction. Please review and let me know what you think. Enjoy!

-Annie

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><p><em>An Ending Life<em>

The moon was incandescently bright, standing as a stark, pale contrast to the inky black sky above. Heavy storm clouds swiftly danced across the bone white surface of the moon, momentarily flinging the eerie night into an abyss of darkness. The dirt pathway disappeared in the temporary blackness and the sound of footfalls hushed as they halted. I blinked, squeezing my eyes shut and letting them open again, trying to adjust to the sudden dark. I let out a shallow breath, reaching inside my robes for my wand, but my movements were suddenly halted.

"_Lumos_."

A sudden, ethereal glow emitted from the point of Ron's wand, lighting the way again. The scene before me was still the same, but it looked different somehow—more ominous and lonely. The wind sliced unpleasantly at my face and tore at my skin, grabbing fistfuls of my hair and attacking it brutally. It hurt to breathe, like something was pressing up against my chest, forcing my lungs in on themselves.

I blinked back cold tears, pulling my cloak closer to my strangely chilled body. It was a mild autumn evening, not at all cold, but that didn't suppress the shivers coursing through my veins. The discolored leaves and broken branches crackled and groaned beneath the pressure of my sneaker as they were crushed to pieces. The only sounds were mine and Ron's hollow breaths and the swift movement of our footsteps.

"We're getting close," breathed Ron, his cyan blue eyes flickering only briefly to me with warning. "Get ready."

Nodding mutely, I brandished my wand and held it before me, my trained ears listening closely as we edged forward. Up ahead, farther down along the winding path, I could see the dilapidated farmhouse, smoke unfurling from the charred, caved in roof. My body lurched forward in an involuntary attempt, but Ron's fingers locked around my wrist, bringing me back to the reality of the situation. We were here on a mission—answering a distress call—and I had to keep a clear head, but it seemed we were too late.

"On three," Ron whispered tightly as we stopped in front of the towering house, still gripping my arm. I nodded again, my heartbeat quickening. "One—two—three!"

Together we blasted the door open wide and I cringed as the door cracked powerfully against the pale yellow wall, scratching the paint off. The hollow night seemed to echo the sudden penetration of silence as the door finally collapsed to the ground. I clutched my wand and Ron's arm tightly as we took our first steps into the house.

_Be on your guard_, I reminded myself as I edged toward the kitchen. Ron slowly crept toward the darkened bedroom, disappearing from my sight. I felt cold and empty as I watched him leave my presence. I knew that he was skilled and that I shouldn't worry for him, but I wanted him by my side, holding my hand safely in his.

The kitchen was in a mass of disarray; pans were scattered across the floor, a drawer of silverware opened wide, the single mahogany table upturned, the wooden chairs splintered and broken. And there was blood on the broken window, as if someone's head had crashed into it.

After securing the perimeter of the kitchen and checking for any valuable evidence, I walked through the darkened living room. Ron suddenly appeared in the doorway of the bedroom, his face pale and blank.

"Find anything useful?" he whispered.

"The kitchen is a mess. The window is broken and there's blood. I took a sample of it for investigation. We can run it through once we get back to headquarters to see who it belongs to. Other than that, nothing. There definitely seems to have been a struggle," I report.

"I'll have to agree with you there," he said darkly, shaking his head.

"What'd you find?" I wondered.

He held up a pillow, ripped down the middle, its feathers protruding from its insides.

"The whole room is torn apart, feathers scattered everywhere. The bed linens are ripped clean in two. There was definitely a struggle. I've found some hair that was ripped out—a rather large and disgusting piece, mind you. So, we'll just combine that with your blood sample when we get back."

I nodded, silently agreeing.

"You haven't found any bodies, yet?" I asked, swallowing down the budding fear bubbling up from my unsettled stomach. The distress call we'd received had been given from this house—we'd tracked it ourselves—yet, there was no one here. This alone was enough to make me nervous.

"No, I haven't. Which means they could be anywhere, dead or alive," Ron muttered, looking equally unnerved. This wasn't new to our job, but it never got any easier.

"Have you secured the rest of the house?" I asked.

"Downstairs is secure," he responded and our eyes both flickered toward the grungy staircase to our right. It looked dark and foreboding. Who knew what lurked above us? "Have you checked the wards?"

I shook my head, quickly waving my wand to check the house's wards.

"The house's wards are extremely strong," I informed Ron. "Whoever owned this house is very cautious and protective."

"Who isn't these days?" Ron muttered and I instantly understood what he was referring to.

He was speaking of the horrific war that had plagued our world three years ago. We had lost a great many of our friends to Lord Voldemort. Luckily, Harry defeated him, but that did nothing to quake the anger of his followers. The Death Eaters dove in for a vengeance greater than all the fires of Hades. Harry and Ron had instantly joined together as Aurors in an attempt to round up the remaining Death Eaters and lock them away. I wanted to help, of course, but I couldn't deal with the fighting so soon after the war. I had needed to find my parents and lift their memory spell. I spent two years in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures where I completed my life-long dream of improving the lives of house elves. But then, I decided I needed to return to the life I knew, to the air of protection, joining the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, where I became a skilled and strong member of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad.

The squad I was on worked alongside the Death Eaters. My squad had the responsibility of looking out for the protection of the magical world and investigating crime scenes, but the Aurors were only joined with us when something terrible had happened, a threat that involved Death Eaters or dark magic. With the help of my squad, we had managed to lock up most of the remaining Death Eaters that proved to be threats, but there were still some in hiding and we always had to be on guard.

When Harry—now the head of the Auror department—had told Ron and I of the distress call, we both packed up our supplies and set out to solve the problem. But there was something darker about this mission—I could feel it.

"Ron," I called suddenly, lowering my wand. "The wards are not penetrated. They're perfectly secure."

"B-But…How is that possible?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "We received a distress call from a _wizard's_ wand."

"I know," I said slowly, my brain working fast. "Perhaps it wasn't a magical situation."

"I _checked_ the area. Spells were used," Ron protested.

I held up a hand to silence him. I needed to think. He let out an audible frustrated puff of air and I threw him a glare. I hated his impatience.

"What spells?" I asked abruptly, coming to a possible conclusion.

"What _spells_? What does it matter what spells—?" Ron started and I huffed.

"Ronald, just answer the question."

"The standard protective spells," he answered grindingly, annoyed by my bossy tone. "_Protego_, _Stupefy_, _Protego Duo_—"

"_Protego Duo_?" I interrupted.

"What's so important about that?" Ron wondered and I clutched the throb in my head. He could really be _so_ dense sometimes.

"Ron, the _Protego Duo_ spell is only used in extreme conditions when all else fails. It's more powerful than any shield charm ever invented. The spells you picked up were only defensive, none of them were attack spells. Whoever cast those spells was trying to protect themselves in desperate manners, which means that the other charms that they were using weren't being useful."

"You're saying that their magic wasn't working?"

"No," I sighed. "Not necessarily that the magic wasn't _working_, only that the magic wasn't powerful enough to stop whoever attacked them."

"You think that it was Muggles who did all this?" asked Ron dubiously, still not understanding.

"No, Muggles can be thwarted by magic. Basic shield charms work on Muggles," I explained.

"Do you think—Well, have you considered the possibility that it might've been a Death Eater?" Ron asked.

I shook my head.

"I don't think so, Ron. You see, Death Eaters are all about malice and harm. Not only would there have been offensive spells cast, but Unforgivables, too. And every spell that was cast in this house was purely defensive."

"Then what did all this?" Ron demanded, growing even more frustrated. He, like me, hated not having the answers.

"I don't know, Ron. But I think this case just got a lot more complicated," I whispered, swallowing hard.

"Well, we'll figure it out once we get back, alright?" Ron sighed, patting my arm. "Let's secure the upstairs and then we'll leave."

A small smile warmed my face and I appreciated the fact that, even in this dark hour, Ron could still manage to quell my fears and help me feel comforted. I trailed up the stairs after him, keeping my wand at the ready.

"_Lumos_," Ron said quietly, lighting our path. I followed his actions. "You secure the left bedrooms and I'll secure the right, okay?"

"Okay," I answered and we parted ways once again.

As I continued down the dark, wood-paneled hallway, that freezing feeling of impending doom rose into my chest, making it hard to breathe. I didn't understand why I was reacting this way, but something just didn't feel right. No, something felt very, very wrong.

After securing the rooms on the right side of the floor, I was about to turn back toward the staircase when I noticed a door that I had overlooked. It was at the very end of the hallway, lit up temporarily by the moon flooding in from the dusty window. With steadying breaths, I inched toward the room and tested the door. Locked.

"_Alahamora_." I gave the door a timid push with my shoe and it groaned open in protest.

The room looked untouched except for the twin sized bed in the middle, illuminated by the moon shining through the window; it's covers and sheets were ruffled and swept aside—unmade. Shadows of swaying, jagged tree branches danced across the light pink walls, playing tricks on my eyes. Stuffed animals lined the shelf on the wall and a small butterfly lamp rested on the white wood nightstand.

Just as I moved forward to look for evidence, I heard an unexpected sound. My ears strained to hear it, for it was barely noticeable. It was a tiny whimpering, coming from within the closet to my right. I stepped toward it, hating the way the wood floors creaked beneath my sneakers. The crying grew more urgent as I rattled the doorknob, but it wouldn't budge. My heart pattered within my chest. There was someone _alive_ in there.

My wand sliced the air and the door opened with a strain, and as soon as it opened wide, the tiny crying turned into a petrified wail.

"_Silencio_!" I cried and the crying instantly muted. I threw an anxious glance over my shoulder and waited, but nothing changed.

Carefully, I moved the hangers of clothes and squinted into the depths of the closet. Moving my wand so that its light illuminated the closet, I was taken aback when I noticed two wide blue eyes gazing up at me with unexplainable fear. I dropped to my knees, removing the silencing spell, and reached toward the girl, who immediately began to cry again.

"Shh, shh," I quieted comfortingly. "I'm not here to harm you, I promise. I'm here to help."

This seemed to calm the tiny blond girl and she gave me her hand, allowing me to pull her to her feet. She had to be five at the very most.

"W-Who are you?" she hiccupped, clutching my hand.

"My name is Hermione and I work for the Ministry of Magic. What's your name?"

"Amelia," she answered, sniffing and wiping her nose on her pajama sleeve.

"Listen, sweetie, your parents called us to come help you. Can you tell me what happened and where your mum and dad are?"

"It k-killed t-them," Amelia answered, sobbing into my stomach. I patted her hair uncertainly, my insides squirming at her words. This is what I had been dreading.

"What killed them, sweetheart?" I asked gently, amazed that my voice wasn't shaking like my hands.

"The monster," she whispered in terror, her voice muffled by my shirt. "The monster with the red eyes. It killed my mummy and daddy."

The girl must've been delirious; it was the only explanation for what she had just said.

"Is that your wand?" I asked, noticing what the girl was clutching so protectively.

"It's my mummy's. She gave it to me and told me to run and hide. She told me to never look back and never let go of it."

"You're a good little girl, listening to Mummy like that. But it's okay, now. I'll protect you now."

I gently coaxed the girl off of me and grasped her hand. I led her down the dark hallway, praying that Ron was nearby and that the little's girls parents weren't dead as she had said.

"Hermione!" Ron suddenly called, his voice sounding panicked. "You're going to want to come and look at this. I-I think I found—"

"Her parents," I answered.

Ron whipped around. When he spotted the girl, he smiled shakily and held out his hand.

"Hi there," he said awkwardly. "I'm Ron."

"He's with me," I assured the girl and she hesitantly placed her tiny hand in Ron's large one.

"Why don't you and I stay over here for a second, okay?" Ron said, taking the girl away.

When I gazed into the room, my stomach twisted so unpleasantly, I thought I would drop to my knees and vomit right then and there. Thankfully and remarkably, I was stronger than I'd thought and remained perfectly stoic. There was a woman and a man, lying together on the broken bed. Their bodies were horrific, mangled and unrecognizable. Their necks were ripped apart, blood lining their now snowy skin. Their bodies looked small and hollow, as if they'd been drained of all life. I stared at their position in confusion and disgust. Whoever had murdered them had been twisted enough to playfully situate them in this position.

I exited the room and went to the girl standing by Ron. Suddenly enveloped in an unquenchable sorrow, I fell to my knees and embraced Amelia—now an orphaned little girl with no one to depend on.

"I'm going to check the rest…" Ron said, his voice sounding thick and strained, as if he was trying his hardest not to lose it all as I was.

"It's all going to be okay now, love," I told the little girl, still clutching her to me. "We're going to get you somewhere safe—"

Just then, a strangled yelp exploded through the hallway, followed by several shrieks and a terrible ripping sound. There was a horrible blast and then a sickening thudding sound.

"Stay there and don't move. I'm going to put an invisibility spell on you, okay? Stay right there and do not move, do you hear me? Do _not_ move."

Amelia nodded and I whipped out my wand, pointing it at her. She slammed her eyes shut.

"_Fidelius,_" I said hastily and Amelia became instantly transparent, blending into the floor and the wall.

I rushed into the room Ron had disappeared into moments before, throwing the door open wide until it thwacked the wall. Ron was lying crumpled under a broken wardrobe dresser, his leg bent at a strangely odd angle. His wand, now snapped in two, rested several feet away from his opened hand. He lay unconscious and unmoving.

"Ron!" I shouted and as soon as I did, I regretted it. Ron hadn't just done this himself. Someone had been in the room with him. Someone that was still in the room with me.

The floorboards creaked under a shifting weight behind me and I spun around, raising my wand. But I faltered as my eyes locked with rich, deep scarlet orbs. Strangely transfixed, I became slack and sluggish. I shook my head, but it was too late. As soon as I had gathered my bearings and uttered a weak "_Stupefy_", the strange creature lurched from the shadows, grabbed me fiercely by the throat, and threw me at the ceiling. I was vaguely aware of the sound of glass breaking as I collided with the ceiling. The ceiling cracked and came down with me, collapsing on top of me as my head smacked the wood floor, hard. My world then submerged into darkness.

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><p>When I came to, my vision was blurry and my head throbbed so powerfully, I thought I might black out again. I was suddenly aware that I was buried under a shower of alabaster. My eyes drifted to the fallen wardrobe, remembering how Ron had been trapped underneath its massive weight, but he was no longer in the room with me. The window was completely destroyed and I noticed a piece of navy blue material clinging to a shattered fragment of window—a scrap from Ron's pants.<p>

I felt around for my wand, which was luckily only a few centimeters away from my fingers. It took more strength than I had ever used in my life, but somehow I managed to lift the rubble off of me and struggle to my feet, swaying dangerously as I teetered out the doorway.

"A-Amelia?" I breathed, my heartbeat frantic. I waved my wand and the little girl suddenly appeared, dutifully squatting in the corner I had left her in.

"What happened?" she cried, running to me as I held out my hand.

"An accident. Amelia, I need to take you—" I started, but my response was immediately cut off by a piercing scream in the distance—one that I recognized instantly. Ron.

I had no time to apparate Amelia to headquarters. I had to find Ron.

"Amelia, stay here and I'll come back for you," I said, darting down the stairs.

"No!" she shouted, running after me and clutching my robes. "You have to take me with you. Please don't leave me! What if the monster comes back?"

I was torn. I couldn't just _leave_ a child by herself in the darkness of night while her parents lay murdered upstairs, but I couldn't very well bring her into a dangerous situation either. But as Ron screamed again, I made up my mind.

"Stay close, do you hear me?" I snapped and she nodded rapidly. "If I tell you to run, you run, got it? No questions, no hesitations, you _run_. If I tell you to stay perfectly still like I did upstairs, you turn to stone. And no matter _what_ happens, never let go of that wand and _never_ stop. If you do all of this, you will stay alive. If you don't, you will die."

I felt terrible for saying such harsh, blunt words to a mere child, but I would not have her blood on my hands tonight. I would not let that girl join her massacred parents so soon. I would protect her with my life, even if it meant giving my last breath for her.

Together, the girl and I sprinted into the forest. I feared that I would rip Amelia's arm from her socket, the way I was dragging her, but she never complained and continued to run as if her life depended on it. She would make a good Auror one day.

As I gazed around me, I realized I was lost. The farmhouse no longer existed in my sight. Trees were shedding all around me, shaking off their decaying leaves. Colors danced through the air in the form of dead leaves, clawing ravenously at my face. They were cold and wet as they hit my face bringing a chill to my body.

The temperature was dropping, fast. I wandered hastily through the trees, crushing branches and tugging Amelia with all my might. All I saw were trees and decay.

Ron's scream suddenly erupted all around me and I jolted forward, causing Amelia to cry out. He was close. I broke through a mass of trees, tripping into a clearing, and only then saw the horror that would remain with me until the day I died. I stood as still as stone, petrified in my fear as I watched the creature with scarlet eyes and snow white skin sink its incredibly pointed teeth into the neck of my best friend and my former boyfriend. Ron's blue eyes remained locked on mine, full of hope and fear. And then, he was gone. The beast savagely ripped apart his throat, drinking in his blood like a dehydrated human journeying through the Sahara would thirst on a watery oasis.

"N-No," I whimpered, gazing at my fallen friend. "No, _no_! _Ron_!"

I retched and Amelia screamed shrilly, her mouth open wide. And all too soon, Ron was crumpled on the ground, his eyes staring up at the black sky, and the creature's eyes burned with blood lust. I trembled, whipping out my wand. I didn't know what this thing was, but it had just murdered the man I loved and I would kill it, one way or another.

"_Impedimenta_!" I shouted and watched in amazement as the spell lightly tapped the creature as if was nothing more than a pin-prick.

It stumbled backward an inch, unfazed by the blow which would have normally sent my opponent rocketing backward at least fifty feet. I'd never seen anything so terrifying. The creature merely cocked its head and advanced toward me, baring its threatening incisors. And that's when it all slammed into me. The pointy teeth, the pasty skin, the blood red eyes, the intense strength, the fast movements—it was a vampire.

I'd never crossed paths with vampires before, I'd only just read of them whilst at Hogwarts. But this vampire was different than the ones described in the textbooks. Vampires were dangerous, but they never attacked a witch or wizard, for those who held the magic held the most power and therefore had the upper hand. But this one was stronger than normal vampires should be. There was something abnormally dark about the way the vampire's eyes gleamed at me and the way he circled me, making escape impossible.

"God help me," I prayed helplessly as I cast spell after spell, watching as they listlessly ricocheted off the vampire's stone chest.

When it leaped at me, it was a miracle that I saw it. In the nanosecond it took for the vampire to pounce on me and sink its sharp incisors into the skin of my shoulder, I had just managed to send out a distress signal and wind my arms securely around Amelia. As I apparated the two of us away, the heinous and blinding pain enveloped my senses, burning my entire being until I was sure I would burn to dust.

I thanked God when Amelia and I smacked into the tiled floors of St. Mungo's, grateful that despite the intense and crippling pain infused within me, that I had managed to safely transport us. Within seconds, I was delirious with a pain more potent than the most extreme _Crucio_, screaming and gnashing. I distantly felt Amelia being pried from my breast. Cold fetters locked around my wrists, making my escape impossible.

"Don't worry, love, we've got you," said a matronly voice in the far, far distance of my barely conscious mind. "This might sting a bit."

I felt an uncomfortable prick in my left vein, but against the horrendous pain I was enduring, it was nothing. As my mind started to fuzz with the affects of the potions just placed in my veins, I let out one final shrill shriek before I eventually succumbed to the blackness for the second time that night.

It was painfully bright when I awoke, the fluorescent lights of St. Mungo's blinking above me. I squinted, feeling incredibly weak. My entire body felt like it had been hit with a semi. I felt drained and wobbly and invaded. My bones felt like jelly, mushy and formless inside me. As I struggled to sit up, I noticed that I was in a hospital gown and was strapped by my ankles and wrists to a hospital bed by tight metal clasps. My wand and my tattered clothes, ripped at the shoulder, lay on the chair in the corner.

"H-Hello?" I rasped, trying to peer beyond the blue and white checkered curtain that surrounded my bed. "Is anyone t-there?"

The curtain suddenly sprang to life, dancing away as a healer entered the room to check my vitals.

"Oh good, you're awake," she cooed, delicately brushing the damp hair from my sweaty face. "You've been out most of the night."

"Wh-Who—?" I struggled to form the words I so desperately needed to ask, but my tongue was thick in my mouth.

"Shh, don't try to talk. You're in a very fragile state right now. You'll be better in a few hours, though, once we've made sure we've erased all the venom from your veins."

"Venom?" I choked and the nurse stayed me with a warm hand.

"You were bitten," she explained softly.

The events of the night slammed forcefully back into me and I remembered everything. But mostly I remembered Ron, now dead somewhere in the forest of rural England, and my shoulder, ripped apart and savaged by the vampire that had murdered Ron.

"Where's Amelia?" I demanded.

"She's alright, very concerned about you though," the healer replied.

"I-I need to be briefed," I said, trying to clear my thoughts. When the healer did nothing, I sat forward. "I need to be briefed _now._"

"That won't be necessary," came a new voice from the doorway.

"Kingsley!—I mean, Minister, it's a surprise," I exclaimed as the tall black man with the sleek, bald head entered my hospital room.

"Indeed it is," Kingsley replied and asked the healer to leave. "Miss Granger, we've pulled your memories to see what happened, since you were unconscious and we had to take immediate action. I hope you don't mind. They're fully restored again."

"Not at all," I replied. "Is Ron—? I mean, did you—"

"Your distress signal was accurate, Miss Granger. We found him right away. However, we were not able to save him. He was…gone by the time we arrived, as was the vampire."

"I need to report this to Harry. This vampire was unlike anything I've ever seen before—"

"_Again_, that won't be necessary," said Kingsley, his voice as tight as his expression. "I came here to inform you that you will not be needed in the ministry anymore."

"I-I beg your _pardon_?" I stuttered, flabbergasted. "Are you _firing me_?"

"Of course not," Kingsley stated. "We are relieving you of your obligatory duties within the ministry for security purposes."

"So, you're firing me!" I accused, heat enveloping me.

"If that is how you wish to see it. But from now on, Miss Granger, it is vital that you understand that you are dead."

"Excuse me?"

"Hermione Granger no longer exists, you see," clarified Kingsley. "She died heroically with her colleague Ronald Weasley."

"Minister, I'm most certainly not dead."

"Oh no, you see, you are," Kingsley argued, his expression dark. "You will be given a new name, a new home, and a new life. A family in Hanover, New Hampshire has already been charmed to believe they are your father and aunt. Your mother is dead. As for the story behind that, that will be up to you. Your plane leaves tomorrow at three o' clock. It's your duty to the wizarding world to stay protected until it is safe to come out of hiding while we dispose of this problem."

"But Minister, this is insane! I can help you with this investigation! I don't need protection!" I protested.

"You will not disobey me," he growled. "You are a dear friend, but I will not tolerate any disobedience on your part. We will contact you when available. Your last assignment in this field is to create a new identity, get on the next plain for Hanover, and cut all ties to your past. You are here and now declared dead to the wizarding community."

"Minister, this is absurd!" I exclaimed.

"I will accompany you to the airport tomorrow. I expect your new identity to be completely flawless by that time. Knowing you, that should be a very easy task. Good evening and rest well," Kingsley said, patting my hand before walking toward the exit.

"_Minister_!" I shouted after him, but he never turned around. "Minister, am I not even allowed to say goodbye?"

Kingsley turned only a fraction and by the look on his face, I already knew the answer before he answered. Nonetheless, it didn't relieve any of the pain that came with his next words.

"No. You will never speak to your friends or family ever again."

And then he disappeared, pulling my former self along with him. I, Hermione Jean Granger, was now formless and dead.


	2. To Exist Or Not To Exist?

**Disclaimer-**I own _nothing_ from either worlds—Twilight or Harry Potter.

**A/N-**WOW! I am more than blown away by all the reviews I've received lately. I want to thank each and every single one of you for making my days so bright as of late. It's always a wonderful feeling when someone reviews your writing, isn't it? So, as most have noticed, this story will be taking place in Hanover, New Hampshire, which is in the East Coast area. Edward and Bella had planned to attend Dartmouth University there. I hope to explain everything in my future chapters, but if any of you have any questions, please let me know. Enjoy!

-Annie

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><p><em>To Exist Or Not To Exist?<em>

I stared at myself in the mirror, watching as fresh tears began to prickle in my dark brown eyes, making them glassy and distant. Taking a deep and refreshing breath, I was able to swallow down my raging emotions with ease—I needed to put emotions aside and do my duty first. But as I raised my wand to my temple, I couldn't restrain the trembling rocketing through my body.

"Goodbye," I whispered hoarsely to my reflection as it started to change before my very eyes.

Within moments I was a new woman—well, somewhat. I knew that Kingsley would be angry with me for not changing my entire appearance. I'd made small changes, but nothing extremely altering. I now stood a little taller, my skin was paler, and my once frizzy and tangled brunette mass of hair now flowed to the middle of my back in warm golden loops. It felt strange, having this shade of hair, and at this length, too. But the one change that felt the most different to me was my eyes. My eyes, once the color of rich dark chocolate, now blinked back at me several shades lighter—the color of warm maple sap.

As I trailed my wand over the rest of my body, my hospital gown slowly transformed. Now, I was dressed in dark jeans, a black tank top, and a forest green figure hugging hooded jacket—nothing that would make me stick out in a crowd, that was for sure. Swallowing again, I turned to face my robes, still lying ripped and bloody in the seat at the edge of my bed.

"_Incendio_."

With a small flick of my wand, I sealed their fate. They burst into hungry flames before my eyes before slowing disintegrating into nothing. They had been my favorite pair, bought from Madame Malkins and seamed to perfection.

As if right on cue, there was a sudden knock on my door. My heart crashed to the floor, dropping inside my body. _I'm not ready for this to end. I can't do this_, I thought brokenly.

"Come in," I called hollowly.

The door moaned as it opened and Kingsley swooped elegantly inside, his dark purple silk robes swishing as he advanced toward me. Once he reached me, he inclined his head politely, his face expressionless. He had been a dear friend to me for quite some time, both of us having served in the Order of the Phoenix, and I had been delighted to hear he would be the new Minister of Magic. But now, I wished it were someone else in his place, so that I could hate him for what he was doing to me.

"Do you have my things?" I ground out, trying to steady the venom in my words.

"Everything, as you asked," he replied, handing over my small beaded bag—the very same bag that I had placed everything I would need while on a mission to destroy the Dark Lord. It now held everything important that had once belonged to me, but nothing that would give me away.

"It's rather small," he added as I snatched it from his grip.

"It's charmed," I stated simply, earning a comprehending nod from him. We were thrown into a painfully awkward silence which had my heart thudding against the cage in my chest. To avoid my eyes, Kingsley cast them down toward his wristwatch, but my hard glare remained plastered on his dark skinned face.

Kingsley cleared his throat loudly after several moments and finally raised his eyes to mine. "It is time."

My eyes clamped shut involuntarily at his words. They sounded so harsh and grinding to my ears, as if he were slicing my very world into millions of tiny particles. _I don't want this—I don't want any of this_, I thought miserably as I clutched Kingsley's extended arm. It was muscular and secure beneath my fingers, offering me some measure of strength for what I was about to do. And then he apparated.

My body was flung forward through a tight, suffocating vortex as our bodies defied all logical science. With a loud _pop_, our feet touched ground in the empty women's bathroom. When I raised my eyebrows at his choice in location, he sent me a withering look that _almost_ made me chuckle. Almost.

"It was the only empty area I could transport you to at the moment without raising suspicions," he explained, rolling his eyes. Kingsley sighed gruffly as he placed a muffling charm upon the bathroom so that no one could hear our conversation. He shuffled in his breast pocket and plucked out a crisp ticket, presenting it to me with a grim expression. Before I took it, he whipped it back and narrowed his midnight eyes, embracing his authority. "If you attempt to proceed elsewhere, we _will_ find you and you will be taken into custody for breaking the law."

I nodded, rolling my eyes. How silly that he thought_ I _would actually attempt to break the law. He was talking to _me_ here. Well, I had broken rules multiple times since befriending Harry Potter, but that was to save the entire wizarding race. They really couldn't lock me up for that. But I wasn't stupid enough to defy the ministers orders. I would do as he told me—staying in hiding in some remote town in New Hampshire with people charmed to think they were my family—even if I could be of use to this investigation.

I reached out and snatched the tickets from his grasp, surprising him by my impulsive aggression. I could no longer hide how upset I was with him.

"I will do as you say, _Minister_," I snarled, whipping out my wand and enlarging my beaded handbag into a medium sized carry-on so that I wouldn't look too suspicious.

"Good," he said slowly, caught off guard by my sharp tone. "You'll take this flight to New York City where you will catch a bus to Hanover. You're new father and aunt will be waiting for you at the station at seven o'clock. I assume that you have made your new identity solid?"

"Of course," I replied stonily.

"And?" he pressed, beckoning me to continue.

"Andromeda Helen Faust," I stated, folding my arms across my chest, "but my friends call me Andy. I love classic literature and art, big band music, my favorite color is purple, I love the rain, and I'm not athletic by any means. My mother, a struggling novelist who taught me to love reading, died in a fatal car accident when she drove us off the bridge and into a lake, which is how I got this scar—" I flashed him the wound on my shoulder, "—and we were fighting about how she'd never told me who my father was and how I wanted him back in my life when this happened. She was a bit childish and dreamy, but we were very close. Although she is an atheist, I am a devout Catholic. I'm quiet and I like to keep things to myself. Must I go on?"

"Are you sure you changed yourself at all?"

"I'm not going to be a preppy, brainless bimbo or tell everyone that I'm incredibly talented with hitting home runs on the baseball field, because if I did, they'd instantly realize I was a farce. There are plenty of girls like me out in the world—quiet bookworms, I mean," I defended.

"Oh, so you're quiet now? I always thought you were 'bossy'," Kingsley joked, remembering Ron and Harry's first impression of me.

"Well, I want to keep out of everyone's way, right? Why not be reserved?" I explained and he nodded.

"Interesting name choice, I might add," Kingsley chuckled. "I can't say that I'm surprised you'd come up with something so clever and unique, but why did you choose that name, may I ask? It's hardly normal. You'll stand out."

"I chose Andromeda because I happen to think it a beautiful name. It is also mythological, like my previous name, so it holds some familiarity," I explained.

What I chose not to mention to Kingsley was the story behind Andromeda. In Greek mythology, Andromeda was a princess who was chained to a rock as a sacrifice to a sea monster as punishment for her mother's bragging. She was eventually saved by the noble Perseus who would later become her husband. Her name meant "she who has bravery in her mind". I chose the name not only because it pertained to mythology and I liked the way it sounded, but because like Andromeda, I felt chained to this new existence, helpless to do anything but wait for the sea monster—or in this case a brutal, ravaging bloodsucker—to devour me. There was no hope for me, unlike Andromeda, for my Perseus had been murdered before my very eyes.

_Oh, Ron_, I thought with deep melancholy, _I should never have let you go._ I had felt guilt for breaking things off with Ron for some time now, but I had needed some time after the war for myself. We'd tried for about a year, but I needed time to fully define who I had been, who I had changed into after the war, and who I was going to be. I felt too much pressure being involved with Ron, what with his family—Mrs. Weasley especially—constantly pestering me about when we were to tie the knot. I just wasn't ready. And now I could never have that chance…

"And the rest of the name? Does it bear any significance?" Kingsley questioned and I rolled my eyes at his curiosity. He was like me—he had to know everything.

"Helen is my mother's name—" I ignored the look on his face, already knowing he wouldn't want me using something so personal because of the risk, but I didn't care—"and Faust is the maiden name of my 'mother'. It'd only make sense that I take on her last name, since she's separated from my 'father' and I've never met him."

"Ah," was all that Kingsley said and for that I was grateful. "Well, I suppose I should let you go. Your flight leaves in an hour—"

"Why are you doing this to me, Kingsley?" I demanded abruptly. I was asking him as a friend now, not my superior.

He let out a long winded sigh and rubbed his neck uncomfortably. I knew he was going to try and avoid the question to the best of his ability, but I wasn't going to have it. Hermione Granger—even if she was dead—did not go out without getting some answers.

"The vampire knows you now," Kingsley started carefully, guardedly. "It knows your scent and it knows your face and name. We've been tracking this situation for some time now, but even so, it's highly dangerous and lethal. You are one our best; we can't afford another tragic death on our hands. We intend to investigate this matter further, but until I am certain that we have the upper hand on this, you must be protected."

"Damn it! I _fought _by your side in the _war, _Kingsley. I was a member of the Order of the Phoenix. I'm one of the best on my squad and I've seen things that you can't even bloody comprehend! I looked Bellatrix Lestrange straight in the eye as she tortured me and I never _once_ gave her any information. I risked my _life_ and those closest to me to give everyone the chance to live without fear—that includes _you_! And you're sending me into _hiding _when you _know_ I can help you the most with this! You _need_ me, Kingsley!" I argued vehemently and his eyebrows shot up as I swore. What could I say, Ron had rubbed off on me just a bit.

"And that is why I must protect you," Kingsley said softly, grabbing my flailing arm. "You know that I care about you and I will keep you updated to the best of my ability, but the best thing for you to do right now is to do as I instruct. Just until I can get a grasp on this. I know you want to fight and I know you want to investigate—it's what I admire most about you, your drive. But I can't allow it this time. Mr. Weasley was one of our best, too, you know, and from what I witnessed in your memories, he never stood even a flicker of a chance. Your spells hardly fazed the beast, I need not remind you of that. Now that he has seen your face and knows your name, he will be searching for you—it was clear in his eyes as you escaped him. I've seen that look before in Voldemort when Mr. Potter continued to escape with his life. He wants you dead and he will stop at nothing until he hunts you down and kills you."

I shivered at the ominous note his voice had taken. I understood Kingsley's views now, but it didn't mean that I agreed with them entirely. I was stubborn, after all—Gryffindor pride and all that. But I would follow orders; I always did.

"I promise that I'll do my best to stay as hidden as possible, _until_—" I emphasized this strongly, "—you can find me and let me come back."

"If it is possible, I will. You have my word," Kingsley vowed and extended his large hand, as if he wished me to shake it.

The gesture brought a swell to my throat and I swallowed down the lump with immense difficulty. I was really saying goodbye, wasn't I? It was all ending. With a surge of emotion that I'd been bottling inside, I threw my arms around Kingsley's neck and hugged him close to me. I was upset with him, but I once regretted not showing others how I felt about them until it was too late. Kingsley would always be a dear friend to me and I wouldn't let my pride and my anger take that friendship away from me. If this was the last time I'd see a familiar face, then this was the proper way I'd see them off.

"Tell Harry and my parents I love them," I whispered into his chest as he patted my long hair.

"You know I can't do that."

I pulled away and breathed deeply.

"I know," I said with a smile. "It would just feel wrong not saying it."

He nodded, completely understanding in his own way, and said in his deep, resonating voice, "Goodbye, Miss Faust."

With a simple nod and a grating _pop_, he was out of my life forever. I gulped as I exited the bathrooms and headed toward the security line, placing my bag on the conveyor belt. Once I was cleared, I slung my enlarged bag over my shoulder and clutched my ticket securely in my hand, looking for my gate.

I was both relieved and nervous once they began boarding. I hadn't been on an airplane since I was sixteen and went to visit my uncle in Sweden. I'd only been the United States twice—Louisiana, if I remembered correctly—, once when I was eight and then again when I was ten, for my grandmother's birthday and funeral. And as everyone was well aware, I was terrified of flying.

As I settled into my seat and placed my bag under the chair that would later transform into a bed, I silently thanked Kingsley for buying me ticket in First Class. I was certain that I'd be more upset with the situation if I had to fly stiffly across the Atlantic in Coach.

"Can I get you a beverage before lift-off, miss?" asked a bottle blond flight attendant, her smile as fake as her penciled eyebrows.

"Just water, please," I responded politely and watched as she left to take the beverage orders of the other First Class passengers.

When the plane rose into the air several minutes later, my hands gripped the sides of my chair so tightly, I thought I'd leave my handprints in the leather for years. The flight was, thankfully, very smooth and I enjoyed a nice meal. But soon my eyes began to droop and the words on the pages of my novel, _Water For Elephants_, began to blur. So, I snapped the book shut and placed it in my beaded bag before transforming my seat into a bed and sprawling out under a large cotton blanket, my thoughts and worries far away.

* * *

><p>"Miss, I'm sorry to wake you, but we'll be arriving soon and we need you to put your chair up in its rightful position."<p>

I jerked awake at the warm hand on my arm and the sugary voice invading my slumber. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I quickly returned my chair to its proper place and yawned. I hadn't expected to sleep the entire seven hours! Had I really been that exhausted? Now, I was never going to be able to sleep.

"Ladies and gentleman we'd like to welcome you to New York City. We thank you for choosing our airline and hope that you enjoyed your flight," the intercom crackled once the plane's tires touched the safe pavement of JFK International Airport.

I exited the plane with hurried movements, grateful to be on stable ground. The airport was bustling with people, all wrapped up in their own little worlds. It was breezy and cloudy in New York City, but not uncomfortably over the top. The city was bursting with vibrancy and life and I was reminded of London, suddenly missing it.

The next few hours of my evening were spent cramped up in a blue seat on a bus headed to Hanover. I read my novel to keep my mind from drifting to what stood before me, but as the city limits of Hanover drew closer and closer, I could suddenly do nothing to stop the anxiety from bubbling up in my abdomen.

The sky outside the bus windows was a brilliant screenplay of blushing tangerine and violent scarlet when the rickety bus rolled into the station. My stomach clenched as I lifted my bag and slipped it over my shoulder, allowing an elderly couple to go ahead of me before stepping off the bus. It was only then, as I watched happy couples embracing and parents welcoming their sons and daughters home that I realized I had no idea who I was looking for.

"Andy?" came a voice from my right and I turned to search for the owner of the voice.

A tall woman was bobbing up and down over the crowd, her many beaded necklaces smacking against her flowery tunic. She had prominent cheekbones covered in a light rosy blush and a beautifully thin face; her large eyes were the color of a summer sky; and her hair was a river of loopy honey—just like mine now was, I noticed. Her pouty lips curved into a brilliant smile once she caught sight of me and she waved erratically, nearly plowing over the nice old couple I'd let go ahead of me.

"Oh, Jeff, look! I think that's her!" she cried excitedly, almost breaking the arm off of the man she was dragging as she rocketed toward me. "Andy? Are you Andy Faust?"

"Y-Yes," I stammered, taken aback by her glee. _Right, I'm Andy_, I reminded myself.

"Oh, you look simply _marvelous_!" she cried in delight and flung her arms around me tightly. With an exuberant gasp, she tore herself away from me, biting her lip. "I'm allowed to hug you, right? You don't have aphephobia, do you?"

At this, I let out a spluttered laugh, amazed by how contagious her joy was. Whoever this woman was, I really liked her.

"No, I don't have a fear of being touched," I responded laughingly and she smiled widely, throwing her arms over me again.

"Oh, good! Because I'm a touch kind of person," she declared, crushing me against her. "I'm your auntie Rhea, your father's sister. I just know we're going to be the best of friends! I was telling Jeff on the way to the station that I just _knew_ you were going to be my kind of gal-pal."

"Good Lord, Rhea, don't suffocate the girl," admonished a quiet male voice.

When Rhea released me to playfully smack the man that had just shyly approached, I gazed at him with an uncertain smile. He had thick sandy hair and a handsome face that looked worn and tired from years of being alone. Actually, he reminded me or Remus Lupin in such a way that it made my heart twinge as I remembered my favorite male professor from Hogwarts.

"Hello," he greeted, holding out his hand uncertainly. I could tell he was nervous. "I'm Jeff Watson. I-I'm your—well, I'm your—"

"He's your daddy!" Rhea finished brightly.

"Uh, yeah," I responded awkwardly. "Um, nice to meet you."

I shook his hand and quickly released it.

"I-I had no idea—I never knew that Elise had a daughter," Jeff said, as if he was afraid I might suddenly jump at him and start beating him to death for not being there for me in my early years. "I never even knew you existed until..."

He broke off and I cleared my throat. He looked so pained and despondent that I knew right then that whoever this man was, he still loved his ex-wife very much.

"The accident," I finished for him and he nodded, swallowing hard.

Meanwhile, Aunt Rhea was rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, obviously not favoring the depressing dip our conversation had taken.

"He was so excited to meet you, Andy. He came straight to the bus station from the firm—didn't even bother to change clothes!" Aunt Rhea said, gesturing to the slacks and dress shirt Jeff was sporting.

Jeff flushed in response and shrugged. "I had no time."

Aunt Rhea rolled her eyes and whispered, "He sure _did_ have enough time." She winked.

"_Anyway_," Jeff continued, sending a pointed look to Aunt Rhea, "we should start heading out. It's getting late."

Jeff led the way to his car, a simple black Mazda, and opened the door for both Aunt Rhea and me. Once we were in the car, Aunt Rhea immediately flipped on the radio, turning the channel to an oldies station.

"Ah, this is a good one," she commented, closing her eyes and swaying in her seat to "Under The Boardwalk" by The Drifters.

I smiled faintly, remembering how much my real father had loved listening to oldies. He claimed it was, "timeless" and "the good stuff".

"Oh!" exclaimed Rhea suddenly, swiveling in her seat to face me. "Have you eaten?"

"Er, yeah, I did. On the plane," I admitted and she pouted.

"Darn it," she said and put on an exaggerated show of being disgruntled. "I made these wonderful roasted turkey avocado sandwiches for dinner—you like avocado, don't you? Well, anyway, I'll save it for you in the fridge for lunch tomorrow, if you want."

"Just say no," Jeff laughed quietly, his blue eyes flickering to look at me in the rearview mirror. "Rhea is a health nut—you know, the crazy kind. She eats tofu and rabbit food and enforces it on everyone she meets."

"Hey, don't even give me that," she said. "You like my turkey avocado sandwiches! _And_ you need to eat healthier, Jeff. When you work yourself to the brink of death every day and never eat lunch, you always stop at some fast food place on your way home. Your doctor isn't going to be happy with your cholesterol levels when you see him next Thursday."

"Isn't it time you found a man and moved into your _own_ house, Rhea?" Jeff hinted with a smile. I was amazed by how close they were.

"You would cry yourself to sleep every night if I were gone. Plus, you're just like Dad used to be—shot-gun happy with any chap I bring home. I can hardly get any man in town to take me on a date because they know that every time they come to pick me up my crazy older brother is going to be there to glare down his nose and see if he's any good for me! Just like Rob!"

"I didn't like Rob," he stated, throwing her a look.

"_Rob_ was _gorgeous_. Oh, Andy, you would've loved him!" Rhea exclaimed and I smiled. "He was this beautiful rock star from Las Vegas. He was passing through town for his gig in upstate New York."

"He was a bum," argued Jeff. "He never did anything, always smelled of cigarette smoke, was always slurring, and he had no ambition in life. _And_ he always said the most revolting things. He had no class."

"Class," scoffed Rhea. "Please."

I listened to them prattle on and on about Rhea's love life, or lack thereof. As horrible as this situation was, I felt better knowing that I would be with people that I enjoyed. When we came to a stop, Aunt Rhea gave a sigh and turned to me.

"Welcome home, Andy," she said and I gazed up at the house.

It was nothing extremely special—a simple two story white house with blue shutters and a wide wraparound porch. Its white wood exterior contrasted beautifully with the tall and plentiful autumn trees surrounding the estate. _Wow_, I thought as I took in my new home, _Kingsley never told me these people were loaded_!

"See that balcony, up there?" Aunt Rhea said, pointing up to the upstairs balcony on the second floor. "That's your room."

"Wow," I breathed.

"See, Jeff? I told you she'd like it. You're such a worry wart," Aunt Rhea laughed, punching her brother in the arm. She turned to me. "Jeff was afraid you'd be one of those modern kids, you know the ones that ride around on skate boards and listen to the music too loud and scream at your folks. I just knew you weren't going to be like that. Any daughter of Jeff's is classy."

I admired her comment, for I greatly liked being considered classy—I was. I sent Jeff a reassuring smile, which brightened his worried features slightly.

"So, can I ask you something really personal?" Aunt Rhea wondered.

"Um, sure," I replied uncertainly.

"I never ask a woman their age, but I was wondering how old you are and when your birthday is, so that I can know when to throw you groovy parties," she said and I burst out laughing.

"Groovy?"

"She never left the hippie phase," explained Jeff.

"My birthday is—" I paused, remembering I was now Andromeda Faust and not Hermione Granger, "—September 13. I'm twenty-one."

At least I'd remember my birthday, since it was relatively close to my old one—September 19. But I was twenty-one now, since it was September twenty-third.

"Oh, we missed it!" Aunt Rhea said unhappily.

"That's okay, you can get it next year," I said quickly. _If I'm still here next year_, I added in my head.

The door opened swiftly and Jeff and Rhea waited for me to take my first steps into the house. When I did, a small smile lifted their cheeks.

"I'll show you where you room is. I fixed it up myself!" Rhea said and dragged me up the carpeted stairs.

When she opened the door, I was actually impressed. I had expected her to deck my room out with love beads and peace signs, knowing her personality, but the room was actually really nice. The room was large enough to fit in a queen sized bed, a dresser, a desk with a computer and lamp, and a nightstand. The walls were paneled with rich mahogany wood and dark ocean blue wall paper. The duvet on the wrought iron bed was black with blue flowers woven creatively into it with matching blue and black pillows—obviously a new bed set. The door to the walk in closet was slightly ajar and I peeked inside.

"I wasn't sure what your style was so I got everything from Goth to classy chic to cheetah, just in case," Rhea added as I gaped at the clothing.

I spotted a pair of zebra patterned pumps in the shoe rack and cringed. I made a mental note to give them to Salvation Army or something of the sort.

"It's fantastic, Aunt Rhea," I told her sincerely, touched by how kind the family was being to me. Well, it made since—they actually believed I was their daughter and niece.

"Did you get that from the accident?" Rhea abruptly asked, her tone soft as she gazed at my shoulder.

I looked down at my left shoulder, noticing how my green jacket had slipped off my shoulder, revealing my black tank top and the angry red crescent marked into my pale skin. I covered it back up quickly, feeling oddly ashamed by it. Ron had his life taken away from him and I was left alive with a measly scar to remind me of life's cruelties for the rest of my days. It should have been me, not Ron. He should be alive.

I began to tear up and Rhea huddled me close.

"I—um—yeah," I strained, trying not to cry. "I got it in the crash."

"Tell me about it; it might help," Rhea said softly.

"I was with Mum," I began the lie with perfect ease. "She and I were going to dinner, like we did every Friday night. We were fighting; I wanted to know about my dad and thought I deserved the right to know, having lived my whole life not even knowing whether he was alive or dead. She eventually told me his name, but refused to tell me anything else. I—I was so _mad_ at her. She was trying to get me to look at her, trying to get me to take her hand—she wasn't paying attention to the road and it was raining; we were going way too fast…"

"Oh, you poor baby," Rhea whispered, holding me closer.

"By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late. We hit the ramp and flipped over into the lake. I cut my shoulder trying to get out of the window."

Saying it made it seem so real that for a moment, I even believed it myself. How easy it was to believe one's lies, even if it was your own.

"I'm so sorry that that happened to you, sweetheart," Aunt Rhea said, brushing the hair from my cheeks. "I know it's tough to lose someone so close to you, so quickly, but you're strong—I can sense that. You'll make it through this. It's what your mom would want."

_It's what Ron would want_.

When Rhea left me to pack and get ready for bed, I let the tears fall where they may, really crying for the first time since Ron's murder. I didn't know where this road would take me, but I hoped that Rhea's words were true. I hoped that I had the strength to continue this life forever without the man I loved.


	3. Someone, Call A Doctor

**Disclaimer-**I own _nothing_ from either worlds—Twilight or Harry Potter.

**A/N-**Hello, my wonderful reviewers! To answer a few questions that were raised**: ****skydancer2ooo** , I have not decided whether you know the vampire or if he is an original character—I'll just have to see where this takes me. **hpfan91 **, you will find out in later chapters what has happened to Bella. And just a hint to everyone out there reading this, this is AU, so I'm not by any means following every book in the Twilight series. I know, confusing, but it'll all make sense later, I promise. **smileylol**, I completely understand about Ron. I always thought she could do better. But love is a funny thing—perhaps she saw something in Ron that others did not.

I hope I answered everyone's questions to the best of my ability. **Enjoy**!

-Annie

* * *

><p><em>Someone, Call A Doctor<em>

"Oh, these are just the cutest!"

Aunt Rhea shoved a pair of hot pink heels in my face, almost slamming them into my nose. When my lips parted in a grimace and my left eye twitched in response to the obnoxiously bright shoes, Aunt Rhea snickered and placed them back on the shelf.

"Yeah, they are a bit ostentatious, aren't they?" she chuckled and continued down the aisle.

A small smile flickered over my features as I nodded in agreement.

"Just a bit."

"_Oh_! What about _these_?" she gushed, spinning around to show me her new selection.

She held up a pair of sleek black leather boots with a three inch heel with jewels crawling up the sides for my inspection.

"I don't think so," I said, scratching my neck with my newly manicured fingernails.

Aunt Rhea had insisted I get my ripped and ragged fingernails done up to perfection, so now I had perfectly clean, filed fingernails painted in a pale, almost clear peach color. Rhea, of course, had been disappointed in my "overly plain" choice of color, trying to convince me to get my fingernails painted in sparkly alien blue. I, of _course_, declined.

"Oh, come _on_, Andy," Rhea whined, waving the boots in my face. "Every woman needs at least one pair of sexy leather boots."

"I believe I already have some in my closet," I artfully lied. "Plus, I don't think that my wearing three inch shoes is a very smart move on my part. It would end badly. _Very_ badly."

I could see it clearly in my head—me tripping and falling all over the place in those absurdly high heeled boots, knocking over priceless vases and various expensive things, and eventually fumbling off a steep cliff, which would undoubtedly result in my very young and very bone breaking death. I flinched at the thought.

"Eh, you may be right. It's almost winter and it gets very icy. Three inch heels probably wouldn't deal well with black ice patches," Aunt Rhea conceded, sighing dejectedly at the boots as she returned them to their former seating on the shelf.

Abandoning the idea of high heels, Aunt Rhea ended up buying a pair of black suede boots that were flat and not at all dangerous for a bookworm only used to wearing tennis shoes and uniform dress shoes. Finally, after forcing me to pick out warm clothes for the impending cold season, we paid and exited the local thrift stores. I had to admit that I liked Hanover, especially the area I was living—a town that consisted mainly of cozy coffee shops, antique bookstores, upscale secondhand stores, and classy indie cinemas.

When we reached Aunt Rhea's teal Volkswagen, I opened the door to the passenger's side and slid in. Rhea revved the engine to life, blaring her oldies station as she pulled out onto the main street, passing several lacy dress-filled boutiques and antique shops. We drove for a little while longer before I realized she wasn't going the way we'd come.

"Aunt Rhea?" I wondered and she turned to me. "Where are we going?"

"We're going home, of course," she replied, taking a left at the intersection.

"But I thought home was _that_ way," I said, confused, jerking my thumb in the opposite direction.

"That's the short way home; I'm taking the long way," she explained with a michevious smirk.

"Why?"

"Well, you've never seen this side of town before, so I thought I'd show you around a bit more. Plus, sometimes it's nice to take the long way home. It gives you time to think," she replied.

I stared out the window, watching as we swerved onto a small road lined with autumn trees and paved sidewalks. Two hoodie-clad girls were riding together on separate bicycles, pedaling with smiles as they chatted happily, their backpacks strapped to their backs. The girl on the bike closest to our car had dark hair and tan skin and when Rhea's flamboyant car passed by, she scrunched up her nose and shot me a "what the hell?" look. I guessed that I should get used to receiving those types of looks when riding in a hippie car with a woman who sported flower-power shirts and peace sign earrings.

As we rode on, I noticed that this area was incredibly beautiful and clean. It was also fairly crowded with people my age, walking on sidewalks, riding bicycles, lounging on the grass of a vast lawn that stretched on and on—

"Whoa," I breathed, lurching in my seat. "What is _that_?"

Aunt Rhea shifted her eyes in the direction I was gawking.

"Oh, that's Dartmouth, the local university," she explained, shrugging.

I stared at the vast campus with its perfectly groomed bright green lawn, the trimmed russet trees, the colonial style dormitories and school houses made of white wood and rusty brick. It was hardly Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but it held a captivating beauty and richness that captured me immediately. There was a familiar pull to the school that I had only felt one other time when I was a first year heading toward Hogwarts for the first time.

"Such a nice school. It's where your father met your mother, once upon a time, back when they were both hippies," Rhea continued, breaking me out of my reverie.

"Jeff was a hippie?" I coughed, spinning in my seat to stare at her with incredulous eyes.

"Yes, your _dad_ was a hippie—you can call him Dad you know; it'd really make him happy," Aunt Rhea hinted, giving me a wink. "He majored in practically everything. Then, he met Elise and they were together for the longest time, so crazy in love, so young. Then, Elise and him ended up getting married against her parent's wishes—eloped and all with me, a mere fifteen year old, as their only audience. She wanted a career in writing, but it wasn't working out and they needed money. Jeff dropped his fanciful dreams and became a lawyer to support your mother. He was crazy about her, but Elise was such a free-spirit, like myself, and never got used to the idea of being married. It didn't suit her well. So, she left."

"He must have been heartbroken," I concluded, frowning.

Aunt Rhea sighed and shook her head.

"Poor man," she whispered. "I'd never seen him cry so much in his lifetime than when she left."

I had no idea what to say to this, so I remained silent, replaying Rhea's words over in my brain. We had long since passed Dartmouth and circled toward our tree-lined neighborhood. When we reached the white two-story house that was now my home, I stretched myself out of the cramped car and breathed in the fresh fall air.

The forest that resided behind our house rustled in the dancing wind, drowning me in the scent of pine nettles and aspen. I absolutely loved this area. If I were to live anywhere outside England, it would be the East Coast of the United States. It was just so beautiful—like something straight from a storybook.

The sound of the trunk opening and the doors locking shook me from my blissful state and I turned around to help Rhea carry our shopping into the house. In the kitchen—a homely room with pumpkin colored wallpaper, white counter-tops, brown cupboards, and a vase of freshly picked daisies on the center island—Aunt Rhea and I deposited the groceries we'd picked up from the store that afternoon into the pantry.

"When will Jeff—I mean Dad—be home?" I asked as I placed a box of crackers on the second shelf of the pantry.

Rhea shut the refrigerator and glanced up at the clock above the stove.

"Well, our dinner reservations are at six thirty," she responded. "So, he should be here any time now. Go and freshen up and I'll finish putting up the groceries."

"You sure?" I asked and she waved me off with a smile and a wink. "Find something relatively fancy to wear—it's a classy restaurant. And make it quick! I'm going to have a disaster finding something classy to wear. I'll need another woman's advice."

"What, Je—Dad isn't good enough with fashion advice?" I joked and she aimed a kick at my backside as she threw my new clothes and shoes at me.

"Not that you're much better, Miss Bookworm!" she called after me and I could almost hear her smiling.

I climbed the stairs and entered my room in a flourish, hurrying to my closet and throwing the door open. Flopping my new shopping on my neatly made bed, I clicked on the light of my closet, bathing my clothes in a dim yellow glow. After diving into the mass of cloth, lace, and silk, I emerged several minutes later in a navy blue cocktail dress with black lace trimming. I felt very revealing with how much skin I was showing and grabbed a black sweater that I'd bought earlier, slipping it over my bare shoulders.

I dove back into my bedroom, leaving my closet behind me, only to dive back in fifteen seconds later after realizing I had no shoes on. A pair of black ballet flats were the first dressy pair of shoes I spotted and I pulled them on one at a time, hopping toward the silver mirror hanging above my nightstand.

I was relieved to see that my new hair wasn't horribly taxing to fix these days. My hands ran gently through my waist-length golden tresses. I still wasn't used to being a honey blond instead of a dark brunette, but it was a surprisingly good look for me. The loopy curls were tame and silky, only wild when I woke up and didn't brush out my bed-head hair.

"Annnnndyyyy!" sang Aunt Rhea from somewhere down the hall. "I need your help!"

Rolling my eyes, I went into my bathroom and began fixing my make-up, putting on more than Hermione Granger would originally have liked, but then again, I wasn't her anymore so it didn't matter. I gently pulled the upper layer of my hair into a butterfly barrette at the back of my head—simple but elegant—and added the finishing touches to my appearance.

When I exited the bathroom, Aunt Rhea was singing loudly along to "I Want To Hold Your Hand" by the Beatles. I peered into her room, watching as she danced around in her slip and tank top, pulling a brush through her frilly honey curls. I snickered and rapped my knuckles on her door, surprising her.

"Ah, Andy!" she exclaimed, swinging me into a jig with her, prancing me around her room. "Don't you just _adore_ the Beatles?"

"They're pretty great," I laughed as she twirled me around her tall, thin frame.

"_Pretty great_? Oh, _Andromeda_," Rhea gasped dramatically, flinging me onto her bed so that I landed in the mass of hot pink, glittery pillows with an audible '_oof_'. "Have you no ear for pure genius? The Beatles were my _heroes_ at your age."

It took all my inner willpower not to burst into hysterical laughter and she bounded into her closet and emerged moments later holding up two dresses, one of which was so decked out in sequins it could have been nicked off a showgirl in Las Vegas and no one would have noticed. The other was bright turquoise with flamboyant peacock feathers woven into the material.

_Where on earth does she find this stuff? _I thought bemusedly.

"Which one is more classy?" she asked, completely serious.

"Truthfully? Neither," I informed her as I got off her bed and she grumbled something about her being hopeless.

"Well, _you_ obviously know how to dress—come show me!" she huffed, pouting as she threw the two dresses in the spot I had previously been sitting.

"You want to look pretty and sophisticated, not ostentatious. If you show up to a fancy restaurant dressed in one of those dresses, people with either find you mentally incapacitated, slutty, or they might even think you are an attention seeker with a knack for weird," I stated and at her defensive look, I quickly backpedaled. "Not that _I_ think that. I happen to think your style is unique and fun. But others won't share my same views, I'm afraid."

"I miss the hippie age," she sighed wistfully, stroking a pair of bell bottoms hanging up in her closet.

I was horrible with the latest fashion trends—Rhea knew much more than I did about the latest trends, even if she didn't follow them. I never really cared about what I wore, growing up with two boys as my best friends and two modest dentists as my parents. I was a simple girl when it came to the way I dressed. I liked lounging about in a good pair of jeans and a sweater with my hair knotted up in a bun—simple, elegant, and not that horrible in appearance. So, helping Rhea find something that would satisfy the fashion industry as well as her inner hippie, proved to be the most difficult challenge of my life.

Finally, I threw a black halter top dress with silver straps at Rhea and kicked a pair of glittery silver shoes in her direction.

"There, work with that," I declared and stepped out of her closet.

"This is too bland!" she complained and I barked out a laugh that surprised both of us.

"Aunt Rhea, that is hardly bland. It is classic black and silver—with far too much sparkle if you ask my opinion—and will look incredible on you tonight. So, put it on."

"Well, I suppose I could always wear red lipstick to spice things up and do something with my hair," she said a few minutes later, standing in front of her mirror and pulling her hair up into a stylish, curly up-do.

She puckered her lips and painted her lips in startling crimson that made me cringe with how bright it was, but she finally looked satisfied.

The door thudded shut from somewhere downstairs and both Rhea and I jumped.

"I'm home! Anyone here?" called Jeff from downstairs.

"Up here! We'll be down in a minute!" replied Rhea, shouting down the stairs. "Okay, let's hurry, Andy. Jeff hates it when we take long getting ready and he's here. That's why I made us come home early."

"Rhea, we're going to be late for our reservation!" hollered Jeff and Rhea growled, grabbing her purse.

"_I know that_ Jeffrey," she shouted down to him, dragging me after her as she sped down the stairs. "But it isn't _our_ fault that you're the one running late from work, _again_—and on Andromeda's makeshift birthday, too. Tsk, tsk, you infernal fool."

Jeff was standing in the foyer, dressed in black slacks and a dark plum dress shirt and black tie, checking his watch. When he looked up, Rhea and him shared a smile at their playful banter. His kind blue eyes fell on me and he smiled.

"You look beautiful," he told me and then nodded to Rhea. "Both of you. Are you ready?"

"Yes," I answered and the three of us exited the front door.

Outside, the sun was setting in miraculous colors, washing the lawn in magenta hues.

"How was your day, Andromeda?" Jeff asked once we'd piled into his Mazda.

"It was fun," I answered, smiling at Rhea who had turned to wink at me from the passenger's seat. "Rhea and I went shopping."

Jeff began to say something, but Aunt Rhea held up her hand.

"Lucky for you, champ," she said to her brother, "Andy here is a thrifty woman. She kept me in check."

"You mean she wasn't afraid to tell you when you were buying something stupid for an outrageously high price?" Jeff gasped and I smirked.

"She was very grouchy, if that is what you mean by that," Aunt Rhea said and in a softer tone, she leaned over and whispered, "She's a lot like you in that sense."

Jeff's neck flushed and he swallowed, embarrassed. I really liked Jeff, I just felt sorry for him. The man was obviously still so in love with his ex-wife, who had just recently died and left him with a daughter that he'd never known existed—and didn't, for that matter.

"Have you checked out the local bookstore, yet?" Jeff asked me several minutes later.

I shook my head and replied that I hadn't been inside a bookstore here, yet.

"You two and your obsession with books," Aunt Rhea remarked, rolling her eyes as she added more lipstick to her already red-stained lips.

Jeff scowled at his sister.

"Just because you like watching granola heads smoke pot and rap about cutting themselves in dark abandoned dance halls doesn't mean _some_ people can't have a real appreciation for—"

"I guess being a bookworm runs in the family, right Dad?" I offered, hoping to defer further arguments.

It worked. I was relieved that we had already been parked at a stop-light, otherwise I was certain that Jeff would have slammed on the brakes in his shock. He stared at me in stunned silence and for several seconds I wondered if I had made a mistake by calling him 'Dad'. If I had upset him, I would kick Rhea so hard in the shin that she—

But something happened just then. Jeff released his shock and his face broke out into a giant grin, like nothing I'd ever witnessed with him before for the week I'd been staying with him. I found that I greatly liked it when Jeff smiled. He looked ten years younger when he wasn't silent and pondering all the time.

"Yeah, yeah, I suppose it does," he breathed, still smiling at me.

When finally we were moving again, Aunt Rhea swiveled in her seat to give me an exuberant thumbs up.

"The bookstore, if you're ever interested in checking it out, is on this street, at the corner, right before the bus stop," Jeff told me and I smiled, shifting to stare out the window.

Minutes later, we rolled to a stop in the parking lot of a fancy Italian restaurant with a name that I couldn't even dream of pronouncing. The air outside the restaurant lingered heavily with garlic knots, Parmesan cheese, and delectable starch-filled dishes and pastas. My stomach grumbled appreciatively, only then making me recognize that I had been neglecting it most of the day.

We entered the restaurant and a black-tie waiter instantly bustled us to our reserved table. The restaurant was dim, lit by candelabras on the wall, vast chandeliers, and tiny table candles, giving the entire proximity an air of romance and mystery. I felt rather lethargic, sitting there in the overly cushioned velvet chair, listening to Frank Sinatra under the candlelight, feasting on fluffy bread rolls to my stomach's content.

Jeff was engrossed in his menu, inspecting everything on it with a critical eye, occasionally uttering a small "hmm" before flipping the page to the wine section. Aunt Rhea, however, was the first to decide on what she wanted, and plopped her elbows on the table to announce such. She batted her long eyelashes at me and smiled.

"So, Andy," she started. "Let's discuss you."

"Erm—what?"

"What are your interests, other than books?" Rhea prodded.

"I like to write, I suppose," I answered slowly, not exactly knowing what she wanted from me. "I'm sorry, I'm not certain what you would like me to say."

"I don't _want_ you to say anything," scoffed Rhea, rolling her eyes. "This isn't about pleasing me with your answers. It's about me and your dad over there—," she reached over and grabbed the menu he was hiding behind, slamming it down on the table, "—getting to know you."

"Oh, well, okay," I said, scratching my neck. "What do you want to know?"

"What is your favorite dessert—and I mean the good stuff that melts in your mouth and makes you want to just _die_ right there on the spot?" Rhea shot off.

"Chocolate mousse," I responded after a moment of thought. "It's always so rich and moist and fluffy, but not repulsively rich like chocolate cake."

"What are your plans for college or a career?" Jeff wondered.

I stalled. I hadn't really thought about that…

"Well, actually, I'm not entirely sure. To be honest, I had no idea of what to expect here. I've been going to a private boarding school in England, extremely high ranked in academics. I graduated when I was eighteen, but I've mostly just been working, saving up and all since Mum's writing usually didn't get us anywhere financially," I quickly lied. "I had hoped to attend a university, but I just didn't have the money or the opportunity."

"She seemed to show an interest in Dartmouth earlier," Aunt Rhea intercepted, throwing a glance at Jeff.

"Dartmouth? Ah, yes. I remember those days," Jeff sighed, smiling softly. "It's where I met your mother, you know."

"I never went to college," Rhea said. "Well, I went to a simple community college to get all my generals over with, but I could never come up with anything that I wanted to do for a major, so I just dropped it and started my own pottery business. It's really, really awesome. I share an art studio with this handsome man named Charlie Carwell. _So dreamy_, Andy. I'll have to take you to meet—"

"So, Dartmouth?" Jeff pressed, blocking out his babbling sister.

I swallowed. Well, what other options did I know of?

"It seems like a truly wonderful school—just the type of university I'd like to attend. But it's far too expensive, considering it is an Ivy League, and I don't have the money—"

_Not to mention an Ivy League school is hardly the place to lie low and be discrete, _I thought.

"Nonsense," Jeff said. "Money is not a problem. You are my daughter. Your education is incredibly important."

"Plus, it's not like we don't have the money," Rhea agreed. "Oh, don't give me that look, Andy. I can see how much you want to go to that school and you most certainly have the grades, you private-school-graduated-with-honors-bookworm."

"Exactly," Jeff said.

I was at a loss for words.

"_And, _I used to date the dean of admissions," Rhea stated proudly, giving me a saucy wink. "He tried proposing three times, but I broke his heart. He's still panting hard over me though. _So_, we'll talk to the dean tomorrow and I'll hook you up an interview."

"That's not right!" I gasped, hating how utterly _Hermione_ I sounded in that moment.

"No, but you're also not going to be able to get in this late in the fall semester without my help. So, pick your poison. Either you lie in bed all day long, letting me take you shopping and talking about the good old days of rock and roll or—"

"Alright, alright," I interrupted her, smirking now. "I get your point. Fine."

"You'll let me set you up an appointment?" Rhea gushed.

"Sure," I grunted, rolling my eyes for the umpteenth time that day. "_Anyway_, didn't you have more questions for me?"

They immediately caught the bait and fired off more questions.

"What's your favorite book?" asked Jeff and Rhea groaned, smacking her forehead dramatically with her hand and muttering something that sounded like "hideous bookworms can't last five minutes without going on about books".

I pondered this for several seconds. I had to remind myself to bite my tongue and think about what I said first, in case I just randomly threw out Hermione Granger answers instead of Andromeda Faust answers.

"I'm a huge fan of the classics," I answered. "The Bronte sisters, Jane Austen's collections, and the occasional Shakespeare."

Rhea's face contorted, her eyes popping out of her head.

"_Shakespeare_?" Rhea gasped, making a strange choking noise within her throat. "You're able to _read_ him?"

"Of course I am," I replied, quirking an eyebrow at her. "Shakespeare is a genius—one of the most brilliant men in the world in my opinion. I adore everything he writes."

Jeff perked up like an eager puppy.

"What's your favorite?" he wondered, leaning forward.

"I'm quite fond of _Hamlet_ and _Macbeth_. I can't read those two without getting chills at least once every time," I gushed.

I suddenly had the urge to rush out of my chair and run furiously down the block to find that bookstore Jeff had earlier pointed out. My obsession for Shakespeare and his works was something I couldn't part with, even as Andromeda Faust. With a pang, I realized that I had left my collection of Shakespeare's works in my father's library at home—a father who now believed me dead.

I shook my head rapidly, quenching the heartbreak that filled my body when I thought of my _real_ father. Jeff was a close second, but he would never be able to take my father's place.

"So, you like morbidity and ghost stories," Rhea stated, staring at the sparkling chandelier.

"Without fail, yes," I declared.

"My favorite is probably _The Winter's Tale_ or _Julius Caesar_," offered Jeff and I cocked my head to the side.

"Curious favorites, if you don't mind me saying," I told him and he shrugged, knowing it was true. "How come?"

"Well, I love the tense moments in _The Winter's Tale_ between King Leontes and Queen Hermione, when he accuses her of having that love affair with the other king and threatens to kill her and she looks him straight in the face and pretty much tells him to go to hell because she is honorable and she'd rather die than to admit to something she did not do," explained Jeff. "Hermione would rather die than lie. That's very honorable."

I swallowed hard, wishing I could crawl up inside my skin and shrivel away. Queen Hermione was everything I once was—moral, honorable, loyal, steadfast, hardworking, and fearless. I once gave my life away to battle the darkest wizard of all time, watched countless amounts of people I knew give their lives up for the same cause I had been fighting. I would have died rather than betray my friends or lie to them, or abandon them. Now, I had done all of those.

Some Gryffindor I was, hiding away like some shrunken coward, living under a lie, deceiving innocent people into believing I somehow belonged here. I should be dead right now, lying next to Ron in the earth, six feet under—not sitting here indulging on pepperoni pizza and succulent red sauce! For Merlin's sake, I should be out there right now tracking down that infernal beast and ripping it to shreds! But what was I doing? I was letting my new family take me out to dinner for the birthday they hadn't got to celebrate.

I was a disgrace. Up there in the sky somewhere, Godric Gryffindor was probably looking down on me with a frown on his face, shaking his head in disappointment.

Well, it's not like I chose to go into hiding, I reasoned stubbornly. Kingsley was the one who insisted I erase myself for good. If anyone is to blame for me being here it is him.

"Andy?"

I jumped at the sound of Aunt Rhea's voice, suddenly flying back to reality. She was eying me in a rather concerned fashion.

"Hm?" I asked, shaking my head.

"We've been asking if you wanted anything for your birthday for the past two minutes," Jeff explained; he also looked worried. "Are you alright?"

"Me? Oh, I'm fine," I insisted. "And no, please don't waste your money on me. I have everything I need and want."

"Are you sure—?" Rhea began, but I abruptly stood up, feeling suddenly claustrophobic.

I needed to have a moment alone. I needed to think, to breathe, to calm down. Sweet Godric alive, I just needed to have some peace and quiet!

"I need to go to the restroom," I announced.

"Oh, I'll come with—"

Rhea began to stand, but I lightly shoved her back down.

"No, no," I said hurriedly, then smiled as she raised her eyebrows in suspicion. "Really, I'm fine. I can find it on my own."

I set off immediately, desperate to get away. My eyes stung with the memories of my past, with Ron's face pressed against my eyes, blocking my vision. I had no idea where my feet were actually taking me and I certainly had no inkling whatsoever of where the restroom was, but that didn't matter. I had to get out of here or my emotions would come undone and I would give myself away.

Oh, how I missed my friends! How I so desperately wished they were here instead of Aunt Rhea and Jeff. How I craved for Ginny to mock me on my lack of fashion sense, for Ron to smuggle me with jokes that were more vulgar than amusing, and for Harry to read my mind as he always had, to help me when something was wrong without letting anyone else know how I was feeling unless I asked him to.

It felt so absurd to be stuck in this expensive restaurant with perfect strangers who believed I wasn't a stranger at all. But I was. I was an imposter, living a lie.

I missed being Hermione Granger. I missed me.

Before I could disappear into the privacy of the restroom, or wherever my feet were taking me, something strange happened. I wasn't paying attention, which really wasn't a smart move on my part, and I tripped when my leg snagged on the chair leg of a woman's chair as she pushed her chair back to escape the table. I was sent reeling forward, barely catching myself on the next chair. I let out a hollow laugh, amazed that I'd missed stumbling to my death in the middle of a crowded restaurant. I was extremely proud of myself for steadying myself so indiscreetly.

But it wasn't enough. No, fate or Merlin or the overly disappointed Godric Gryffindor had another plan for my night.

Out of nowhere, a waiter snagged his leg on the very same chair I had tripped on and was sent flying. Several things happened all at once—the waiter yelped and sprung forward, the food on the plates soared several feet into the air, landing ungracefully in the hair of a rather put-out young woman, and the silver tray, still carrying now empty plates, swung out and clipped me forcefully in the temple of my head, jerking me backward so that my head collided with a rough smack against the wood of a neighboring table.

I heard voices hollering and gasping, feet shuffling, chairs scraping the wooden floor, but I was too far gone to recognize any of it. Black dots spotted and danced across my vision, soon overtaking my senses and sending me into an abyss of blackness.

When I came to, I was resting in the cool arms of an angel. At first, I thought that I had died and gone to heaven. But if this was heaven, where was Ron? Where was Grams and Papa? And who was this angelic woman, cradling my head in the lap of her violet dress, brushing her long, white fingers over my hair? She had breezy caramel hair, pulled up into a fancy up-do and her skin was so white and perfectly flawless I was almost blinded. But it was her eyes that took me off-guard. They were so unique and beautiful—a sparkling rich gold, like a freshly manufactured Galleon. The way she wore her make-up and pinned her hair reminded me distantly of the movie stars of the twenties—glamorous and poised.

When she smiled at me, I felt my body relax tremendously. I felt so safe with this woman, just as long as she kept smiling at me like that. She distantly reminded me of my own mother with this smile, but my mother had dark brown hair and blue eyes—this could not possibly be my mother.

"Wh-Who are you?" I managed, but it sounded deranged as it came out my throat, like my words were weaving in on each other.

"Shh, don't try and talk, honey," the woman whispered, her breath warm and fragrant on my skin.

I was suddenly aware of a large crowd gathered around me, all talking excitedly about what had just happened mere minutes ago. The waiter was apologizing profusely, fretting about getting fired and how clumsy he always was. I wanted to tell him that it was that blasted old lady's fault for not paying attention to her chair being in the middle of the aisle, but I couldn't think. I had a throbbing headache.

"Oh my God! Andy!" came Rhea's voice over everyone else's.

"What is going on? What do you mean Andy—Is that—? Andromeda! Is she alright?" Jeff shouted and the crowd began to disperse. "Excuse me—pardon me, please—Excuse me—Oh, will you move?"

"Don't worry, sweetheart," whispered the woman, as if sensing my discomfort.

"What happened?" I croaked.

"What was that? What did she say?" Jeff asked, perplexed.

"She is only wondering what happened. It's quite alright, Jeff," a charming male voice, one that I was certain I'd never heard before, said.

"Oh, thank God you are here, Dr. Cullen," Rhea gasped. "What's happened?"

"Well, this young woman here is the unfortunate victim of a rather bad fall," the man replied and I could almost hear his smile. "A waiter tripped and she banged her head rather hard on our table. She lost consciousness for about five minutes, but she seems to be doing well. I doubt she has a concussion, but just in case—"

My head gave a painful throb, drowning out the last few words this "Dr. Cullen" had to say about my "condition". It was just then that I spotted this new man. He came into my line of vision when he placed a wet cloth on my temple. I hissed.

"It's just a minor scratch," the man said, trying to comfort me as he dipped the cloth back into his iced water and returned it to my head. "It should heal up in the next few days. Nothing to worry about."

The man was gorgeous. Actually, I'm not sure if that was even a proper word to describe the beauty of this man. He was tall and graceful, every move as perfect as a skilled ballet dancer. He had luscious blond hair and he, too, had to same beautiful gem-like eyes. I'd never been physically attracted to older men before and I most certainly had never come across someone and gawked at their pure beauty within the five seconds of laying eyes on them. I felt like an idiotic school-girl.

"I'm Dr. Cullen, but you can call me Carlisle," he said to me quietly.

"Nice to meet you," I managed to say and he chuckled.

"Likewise, Miss—"

"Andromeda," I replied hurriedly. "Andromeda Faust."

"Ah, Andromeda," he said, nodding as if he knew something fascinating about the name. "Perseus's wife."

"You _know_ that?" I laughed.

"Carlisle has a rather fond hobby of reading mythology and telling everyone about it," the angelic woman informed me, glancing at the man affectionately. The love in her eyes was so overwhelming that I almost choked. I'd never seen someone so obviously in love.

"Yes, well, my mum was a little over eccentric," I explained, trying to keep myself as believable as possible.

"You have a lovely name, Andromeda," the woman said, coaxing me with her fingers.

It was odd how much I preferred Jeff and Rhea to call me Andy because it just sounded so odd and unbecoming when they called me Andromeda, but I found that it was the entire opposite with this new couple. My name coming out of their mouths sounded like the purest of music, like a chorus of angels worshiping.

"This is my wife Esme," Carlisle introduced when I gazed up wonderingly at the woman.

"It's lovely to meet you," I said and she smiled down at me.

"It's lovely to meet you as well, Andromeda," she said, brushing the locks from my face.

"Well, you should be good as new in a few days," Carlisle noted and patted my hand with his. "Here, let me help you up."

He began to pull me to my feet, but my body convulsed suddenly and I slammed back down to the ground, crying out in pain. I gazed down in alarm at my shoulder. My sweater had ripped open, probably on a jagged piece of _something_, revealing my shoulder and the ghastly crescent imprint on my shoulder. The bandage that the Healers had put on it to stop the bleeding had torn off and the clean air hissed against the wound with such heady vigor it made me dizzy. Why did it hurt so much?

Carlisle was staring at my shoulder with such intensity, at first I wondered if he recognized the mark on my skin. But I was being absurd. He was but a simple Muggle—how could he possibly know? Hesitantly, he brushed his finger along the deep gash in my shoulder and I sucked in a shallow breath, waiting for the pain to come. It didn't. His cold touch seemed to calm the quaking in my twitching shoulder, as if the wound invited him forward. I noticed that the pain didn't seem all that horrible when his freezing fingers were tracing it.

He pulled back, as if snapping out of some reverie, and passed the woman—Esme, was it?—a rather odd look. If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought I saw a flicker of alarm and acknowledgment in his eyes.

"Interesting wound you have there," Carlisle said to me, barely audible.

I swallowed, reminding myself to keep calm and composed. I pulled on my sweater, trying to cover my wound up.

"Car accident."

He eyed me strangely, so strangely that I felt chills wash through my whole being. I needed to leave. I got to my feet as best as I could and joined Aunt Rhea, who hugged me tightly and whispered promises of hot chocolate and movies when we got back home, but all I could focus on was the doctor's eyes, staring at my shoulder, his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly.

"Thank you, Dr. Cullen," Jeff said, shaking Carlisle's hand.

"Always a pleasure, Jeff. Oh, and Andromeda?" Carlisle called as I began walking away. "I could fix up that shoulder if you would like. Maybe get you a fresh bandage?"

"Thank you, but no," I replied quickly, swallowing again. "I'm fine. Have a nice evening."

"It was nice meeting you," called Esme sweetly, cutting off Carlisle's next words as she stepped in front of her husband and waved to me.

My panic subsided as she did this and I shook my head, telling myself I was being absurd. He couldn't possibly know.

Could he?


End file.
